


Should I Be Impressed?

by ccleverr



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fingering, John attempts to make Sherlock prove his sexuality, Johnlock - Freeform, Lots of Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Porn, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Sex, bear with me, clitoris, one or the other, or maybe prove his jealousy, we'll see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccleverr/pseuds/ccleverr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock apparently is unfazed by sex, and John attempts to change that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think, please! I already have plans to continue this, but what are your thoughts?

"Mathias, _ohh_ , Mathias," the girl lying underneath John moaned. 

John had long since given up on correcting Amber. She knew John's name, yet reverted to calling him by the name of her ex as soon as they entered John's bedroom. In six years of knowing Sherlock, this was the first time John brought a girl to the flat for the night when he knew Sherlock would be home. He knew it was a mistake. Amber was loud, and they'd only just begun.

Amber had been stripped naked within the first few minutes, and John was down to his jeans, which Amber was working off of him as John sucked at the soft pale skin of her neck.

"Oh, get on with it, big boy," Amber whined, bringing her knees to her chest and shoving her toes underneath the waistband of John's pants, pushing them down to his ankles. John grinned and kicked them off completely.

"What would you like first? If you need preparation-"

"Your cock. Now. And finger my clit."

John nodded and mustered concentration as he slid a condom on and worked himself into the girl's wet heat. 

"Ohh, Mathias. Fuck me. Fuck me!" She shouted gleefully the moment John was fully inside of her. He obliged willingly, and immediately Amber had more to say.

"Fingers," she reminded him. John brought his hand between the exposed base of his cock and the place where it connected with Amber.

"Tell me what-" John's words were cut off by Amber screaming, "Mathias!" as she flung her hands back to grip the headboard.

"Yes, yes, yes," Amber chanted as she instinctively clenched around John's cock. "Keep- keep working it- oh, fuck, yes."

John kept up the motions, gradually growing faster, rougher.

The occasional accidental brush of fingers at the base of John's cock only made him impossibly harder inside Amber, and he rolled his hips faster. 

As he fucked her, John thought about how he got here. _Here_ being "inside-the-flat-at-an-evening-hour-while-Sherlock-was-awake-downstairs-hearing-everything." Well, really here was the only place to be. Amber was the most attractive, friendly girl at the pub, her flat was being repaired due to fire damage, and John was incredibly horny. The means outweighed the odds, really.

This would be over very quickly, but John didn't mind. He was getting sick of being called Mathias. 

He didn't think Amber minded either, based on the shrieks she was letting fill the room.

John shifted the angle of his wrist so his finger would graze her clitoris starting between the soft folds of her labia and moving forward gently.

This made Amber surprisingly quiet, her mouth pursed and hard breaths only coming through her nostrils as she concentrated on the motions of John's hand. Her clitoris quickly became soaked with pre-come and John watched as some of it made its way down his hand.

It was an erotic sight, to be perfectly honest- his hand trapped between their bodies, drenched in pre-come, grazing his own cock which was sliding faster and faster inside of Amber- but not a sight John had time to dwell on because soon Amber went over the edge, her voice seemingly shaking the walls of the room as she slammed her fists back against the headboard; John let her come coat his hand and gave her a minute or two to bring herself down before asking politely, "Would you like me to pull out and finish myself off? If you're too-"

"No," she demanded, grabbing at his arse and holding him tighter against her naked body. "I think I can help you. Come inside me."

And then her internal muscles blissfully began clenching tightly around John's cock, and Amber began rutting feverishly against him, her back arching beautifully up from the bed.

Okay, maybe this would take a touch longer than John predicted. Amber made sex exciting. 

She nudged his hand away. "Here, let me."

She took over John's job, fingering herself gently. 

"Don't be alarmed," she whispered as she slid her now-damp finger up against John's length inside her. "I know where that spot is, don't be offended; it'll be easier for me to find it. But don't worry, take whatever you need from- oh."

Amber cut herself off, clearly distracted by the thorough finger-fucking she was giving herself. "Oh god. Yes, that's-that's it."

She started rolling her knuckle along John's cock in efforts to please herself, unintentionally making his cock jerk inside of her. John struggled to process much thought; his vision narrowed down to watching his thumbs simply stroking either side of her breasts.

Amber slid her other hand between them to finger her clitoris while grappling more roughly at her G-spot, and she let her head thrash restlessly against the pillow.

Amber grew quiet again, her breathing growing ragged- simple little short gasps of air emitting every so often, "Ah, ah. Ah!"

And finally with a short scream Amber came for the second time that night. Her fingers were still caught in the mess of her come and John's cock, and something about all of it set John off, too. He was reeling, his mind going blissfully white as he shouted and moaned, too arsed to give a damn who in the flat could hear.

His hips jerked unrhythmicaly; his vocals went on for a few more seconds before tapering down into, "Ah, fuck, yes."

No kiss. Amber went limp against the and closed her eyes.

"Um, would you like anything?" _A taxi, perhaps?_ But John didn't want to be rude, of course.

"Water," Amber murmured with a smile. John nearly laughed, but he got up, cleaned himself off, and slid on his boxers to go down to the kitchen.

The sight he was greeted with upon descending the stairs was entirely unsurprising, yet completely surprising in how predictable it was.

"Sherlock," John said. Well, what did he expect? He knew, of course, that his flatmate was at home, and he even expected him to be sitting in the armchair he always sat in. But he didn't expect Sherlock to look so calm and collected, so... unfazed.

"Hm?" His flatmate responded, glancing up from his laptop for a moment. 

"Jesus, Sherlock, you really are ace, aren't you?"

"Whatever gave you that impression?" Sherlock asked, his focus back on his laptop, quirking his eyebrow dismissively.

John squinted at his flatmate and crossed his arms. Sherlock's skin tone was normal, his chest wasn't rising and falling abnormally, he wasn't hiding an erection, his eyes weren't dillated. Any other man John knew would've been jacking off to the sound of a woman like Amber, but Sherlock remained taciturn.

"Oh well. Your business, not mine." And then John went to make himself a nice after-shag cuppa, arranging it on a tray with water for Amber and some biscuits in case she was hungry.

"Just tea for me, thanks," Sherlock announced. 

John smiled and poured the last of the kettle, delivering it to his flatmate before returning upstairs.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very difficult to write because my cat wouldn't leave me alone.

After Amber had gone, John could only think of Sherlock and his baffling new findings.

_"Sex doesn't alarm me."_

Incredible. It really didn't, did it? What did that mean? Of course, Sherlock had never said flat-out that he was asexual, but it was a possibility. 

John lay in his bed, slowly falling asleep while his thoughts became more muddled.  

 

 

John awoke to a day off of work, no cases, and 10:23 AM glowing on his clock. He couldn't remember the last time he let himself sleep in so long. He kipped downstairs for a bite to eat, noticing on his way to the kitchen that Sherlock's bedroom door was wide open. 

Funny. Until now, it hadn't occurred to John that he had never seen the inside of Sherlock's bedroom when Sherlock wasn't inside, telling him to leave him alone. For him to leave the door open when he wasn't home was unheard of.

An idea sparked in John's mind. In retrospect, it was a very bad, poorly thought out idea, but how many other opportunities would John ever get to see the inside of Sherlock's bedroom? There had to be something in his room that John could learn from, that he'd be surprised by. Sherlock was a walking enigma- he knew everything about everyone but rarely allowed anyone to know much about himself. John took a step inside, nearly expecting lasers and alarms to go off. 

There was nothing, though. John had seen the inside of Sherlock's room before, of course: the maps and photos on the wall, the dresser, closet, pillows, bedspread. All normal stuff. So he went straight for the drawers, pulling them open and sliding his hands along the rough interior panels briefly before deeming the chest of drawers completely useless. He moved to the closet, searching pockets quickly and scouring the bottom corners. 

Nothing. Not even a jar of eyelashes or skin samples. Growing frustrated, John went to the nightstand, yanking open the drawer. Three pens, a pencil sharpener, a balled up piece of paper, and a paper clip.

Well, that was a waste of time.

 

Later that evening, another thought struck him. He was in a pub with Greg when he saw a gorgeous blonde sitting in a booth in the corner laughing loudly enough to fill the entire place.

"Well, I better get back home. Ta, mate," Greg said, clapping John on the shoulder as he stood to go.

"Ta." John nodded, his focus going back round to the girl. The loud girl. The girl who would fuck him up against a wall if he asked nicely.

Sherlock wouldn't be at the flat now, but he assured John he'd return from Bart's before midnight. This was John's chance. It was another spontaneous idea. He really had no idea what he'd gain from this, if only to prove Sherlock's sexuality. Which should be none of John's concern, of course. Of course. But if nothing else, at least John could gain beautiful benefits from this impromptu experiment.

But it was a mystery, and John needed to find an answer. Spending so much time with Sherlock had that effect on him.

John made his way over to the girl. "May I sit here?"

The girl looked up at him, wide-eyed. "Of course." She smiled at the two other girls she was with, then brought her grin up to John. "What's your name?"

"John Watson. What's your name?"

"Courtney. And this is my sister, Grace," she said, gesturing to the girl beside her, "and my friend Tonya." The other two women nodded and smiled at John, each giving a small wave.

 

 

John was right. After chatting with the girls a bit, he propositioned Courtney to go back to the flat with him; she agreed, said goodbye to Grace and Tonya, and went home with the doctor. And less than an hour after meeting Courtney, she was pinned up against the wall, pressed from head to toe by John Watson's body. His left leg was hooked around her right leg and he rutted against her. Despite her enthusiasm, she was taking things slow. John prayed she'd be willing to have sex right here, where she'd be in plain sight of his flatmate- wait, but what was he thinking? Here he was with one of the most gorgeous women he'd been with in months, and he was thinking about what his flatmate would think? 

John focused in on Courtney, taking in the moment, trying to completely ignore the impending moment of Sherlock walked through the door. 

"Help with my trousers," John requested. Courtney did so, and John quickly stripped her of her shirt. She grinned at him and nuzzled his neck before pulling his shirt off, too. 

"Now we're even," she teased.

"Not quite," John murmured flirtatiously, his fingers sliding along the waist band of her skirt.

"Not _yet_ ," Courtney giggled, but she brought her hips pressed up against John's. He was already completely ready, his cock aching to be inside her. He wondered if she'd let him finger her now, but he thought it would be polite to ask first.

"May I-" John stopped short, realizing he heard a sound. 

Yes, there were the unmistakable footsteps up the stairs- definitely Sherlock's- he'd know them anywhere. A moment later Sherlock was in the door. 

He quickly grabbed Courtney and turned the two of them around so John's back was up against the wall. He kissed her neck while looking over her shoulder, surreptitiously sneaking a glance at Sherlock passing by. As Courtney had no clue what John's second motive was, she continued on, pushing John's pants down. He shimmied them to his ankles and kicked them off; Courtney gasped at the sight of his naked prick.

Sherlock, again looked totally unfazed, even when John quickly, surprisingly, brought his hand higher up Courtney's skirt and under her knickers to finger her. She squealed, then moaned. 

Nothing. His efforts did nothing. If Sherlock wasn't asexual, then what the hell was this? Sherlock simply rolled his eyes, picked up the newspaper and the cup of tea he had left from the morning, and he went into his bedroom down the hall, shutting the door firmly. 

Buggers. Well, at least now he could focus on Courtney. 

"Sorry, was that too much?" John asked, worried he'd just spoiled everything.

Courtney shook her head vigorously, "Keep doing that. And- _ohh._ " 

Her head rolled back as John's finger slipped between her labia and into her pussy.

"And- um- condom. Condom," she tried again, louder. "Two in my pocket." She moaned as John's finger moved back up to her clit. He tried one-handedly to reach behind her and slide a condom out of her back pocket. Without breaking his rhythm on her clitoris, he ripped the packet open with his teeth and flicked away the wrapper; his right hand still occupied, he carefully rolled the condom onto his leaking cock. 

"Help me get my bra and panties off now, John. My skirt, too."

He participated with enthusiasm, and then they were both naked. John was so ready to come.

Courtney nodded in response to John's unspoken question, and he pressed his cock to her entrance, pushing in gently. Her mouth fell open as she moaned, her chest rising and falling more rapidly. When John was fully inside her, he breathed a sigh of relief at the amazing warmth surrounding his cock. 

"I've been ready for you since I saw you in the pub; I'm sorry if this doesn't last long."

"Honey, don't worry," she kissed his cheek. "I've been set to come for the past twenty minutes. Having an audience for a second was pretty fucking erotic."

"Mhmm," John agreed, rolling his hips. 

"Does," Courtney began, gasping, "does your flatmate-oh god."

She laughed breathily, looking down at John's cock sliding in and out of her.

"He likes to watch?" She finished with a shaky voice.

"Nope. I like to make him uncomfortable."

"You like him to watch," she decided, grasping John's hips tightly and clenching around him.

John opted to not respond and pushed his hips up into her faster, his cock trembling, quivering inside her.

"Are you ready to come?" He muttered in her ear.

She nodded, sighed, closed her eyes, tipped her head back. "Take me."

She looked so peaceful, not flinching as John pushed deeper and her muscles clenched tighter. Her mouth widened in blissful arousal, and soon it contorted into something that made John blissfully aroused, too. Her eyes pinched shut a fraction tighter as she let herself come around John's cock, and she gasped and moaned through her orgasm. The perfect sight of her release sent John careening over the edge as well, shouting words that weren't really words. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

"Morning, Sherlock." John said, taking a seat across from Sherlock at the kitchen counter. John wrapped his hands around his warm mug of coffee and watched Sherlock studying slides under his microscope. Sherlock simply nodded in response, not looking up.

"Um, Sherlock," John began. Last night he had prepared exactly how he wanted to word this. "I know I've pressed you about this a bit before, but I was just... well, I was just wondering, really. Um."

Oh buggers, this was going well, wasn't it? "Well, it's really maybe none of my business, but have you ever had sex?" 

The last few words came out all in a rush.

"Mm," Sherlock hummed noncommittally. Well, at least it was a sign he could hear John. 

"With a woman?" John persisted, trying not to sound too eager.

"Mm," Sherlock muttered again, not looking up.

"With a man?" John tried again.

This time, Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "Mm."

Hm, so perhaps Sherlock _was_ into blokes. John nodded, swallowed his last drop of black coffee, and got off his stool, going to grab his coat and keys. He had more research to do. But first he had a ten hour shift at the clinic. 

 

John had known he was bisexual since primary school, really. Well, when he was about fourteen he did go through a phase of absolute trauma when he questioned whether he might be gay, but he leaned more towards women anyway. Partly because he was guilty of societal pressures of finding a woman to marry and have children with, and also in part that there weren't very many men chatting him up in bars. Getting off with a man was something he hadn't done quite as often, but he certainly would have no objection to it. 

The main problem was finding a man who would get off with _him._  

Still, John thought he might as well give it a try. Of course, he'd do nothing he himself would feel uncomfortable with. He had decided that right off the bat- _don't think about the bloke Sherlock would find attractive, choose someone who you actually want to spend the night with. Sherlock will know the difference._

John's experience with men had never been very good, and tonight was no different. Most men found him mildly attractive in a disappointingly ordinary way. 

So that's why, two pints and a shot of vodka later, John found himself sitting alone at the bar. He'd tried chatting up three different men; one, he found out very quickly, was there already with his boyfriend, and the other two were too attractive and a tad bit too young to go after a lad like John.

Nonetheless, John did find someone to take back to his flat at the end of the night. The moment the bartender gave him that sympathetic smile, John knew he had to wipe that pity smile off his face. The bartender, named Mark, was truthfully more attractive, in John's opinion, than most of the other men in the bar, and closer to John's age.

They ended up snogging on the couch. Not much else. Well, not much else physically. 

Mark didn't mind talking to John, and John found he didn't mind this either. Mark had nabbed an expensive bottle of Johnnie Walker from behind the bar to bring with him.

"I'm not shagging you tonight, mate. That's not how I deal," Mark explained as they were in the cab on the way to the flat. "But if you need someone to spend a night with, I'm your guy. Not saying we can't take it further another time, you know, it's just, well... I've seen my fair share of hookups gone South, if you know what I mean."

John nodded, smiling in agreement. "Sounds like a plan."

In all actuality, John found it relieving to not be put under the pressure of sex tonight. If Sherlock found him snogging a man when he came home, he wouldn't mind, but he wouldn't mind if Sherlock walked in on them just sharing a bottle of whiskey, either. 

Sherlock actually arrived home so late, however, that John and Mark were fast asleep on the sofa, Mark lying half on top of John. Since John was not awake to see Sherlock's reaction, it probably didn't matter that much, and if John _had_ seen Sherlock's face, it would have mattered even less because Sherlock's expression was similar to that of the two previous nights.

 

The next morning, Sherlock was gone by the time John and Mark both woke up. 

"Sorry," Mark mumbled. "I didn't realize how long I'd slept."

John grinned sleepily as Mark clumsily stood up.

"I'll leave now, then," he muttered, shuffling towards his shoes, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

"Na, mate. Stay for a cuppa."

Mark looked back at John and smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that."

They situated themselves in the kitchen as Mark patiently waited for his tea.

"Have you got much going on today?" John asked conversationally.

"Today's my day off, actually. I was planning on going to the gym, but not much else, no."

John yawned and looked away. "I was thinking of going to the gym today, too."

Mark chuckled and swung the last drop of his tea back.

"Gonna go check the news, don't mind me," he said, setting his cup by the sink and going to drop onto the couch. By the time he had the right station playing, John had joined him on the couch and their lips locked immediately. Mark was a rather talented kisser, and John felt quite content.

"Maybe I won't make it to the gym after all," Mark muttered, and they kept kissing. Mark was very generous, not shoving his tongue down John's throat, not being too rough with his teeth. In fact... it was perfect. More than perfect. John fisted his hand in Mark's ruffled ginger hair to bring them closer, and Mark's rough hand grabbed John's arm tightly. 

And then the door slammed open. John had the decency to at least see who it was, but was unsurprised to see Sherlock's indifferent expression filling the flat. Sherlock flung himself onto his chair and changed the station to a "better" news station, in Sherlock's opinion.

"Oh. Well," Mark muttered. "I... should probably go, then."

"No, Mark, come on," John pleaded. Fuck, Sherlock would _not_ ruin _this_.  Whether this was a twisted experiment of John's or not, he couldn't let Mark go now. John gave Mark his most pleading eyes.

"No worries, mate. We can meet up later- I work tomorrow night, you can find me there," Mark said, and then he left. 

John looked at Sherlock. Nothing. Well, there were pros and cons to the current situation. Pro: Mark didn't say he never wanted to see John again. Con: Sherlock knew where John would be meeting Mark tomorrow night.

 

Pro: Sherlock didn't seem to give a fuck at the moment.

John sighed. "Any cases?" 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

"I'll be home late; don't wait up," John called as he walked out the door.

"The calcium levels in this are absurd," John heard Sherlock mutter as he jogged down the stairs. He smiled to himself and headed out the door to the bar.

Mark's shift would end at 11pm, and if his texts were any indication, he was up for something more than just kissing tonight. John couldn't keep the smile off his face; he really liked Mark. Last night they had covered a lot of ground with conversation- Mark told John about his Master's degree in both Physics and Computer Science. He had worked as the CEO of some big company shortly after university, and stayed there until just a few years ago, when he felt like he needed a change. Mark had explained to John that during college he worked as a bartender and really enjoyed it, which is why he went back. 

John of course told him all about his job and his military background- which Mark had deemed "sexy." John told some stories of cases with Sherlock, but tried to lay off talking about his flatmate too much. Not that it would make Mark jealous- John didn't exactly have endless words of praise for Sherlock, but it wouldn't do well to dwell too much on him nonetheless. 

When John reached the bar, Mark was leaving, staring down at his phone. When he saw John, he grinned, walked up to him, and kissed him. "I just sent you a text; you can ignore it now."

John took Mark's hand and they walked down the sidewalk. "Where to?"

Mark slid a bottle of wine out from his coat. "I was thinking your flat, if that's all right with you."

John grinned. "Perfect."

 

As John opened the front door to their flat, he immediately knew something was wrong. Well, _wrong_ was a broad term when it came to 221b... but when the flat smelled of burnt spinach and melted car parts, John could definitely deem the situation "wrong."

"I am so sorry," John apologized to Mark as they headed back down the stairs, in an unspoken mutual agreement to not return to the flat until it smelled at least remotely normal.

"No worries. My flat's fine, yours is just much nicer."

John laughed at that. With Sherlock as a roommate, this statement seemed so blatantly false. And it was; Mark grinned back at John.

"Usually," he added with a smirk.

 

Ten minutes later, the men were in Mark's flat, snogging on the couch. Not much of an improvement from their first date, but John was still enjoying himself.

In all honesty, he didn't mind if they got any farther than this tonight; Sherlock wasn't here for John to carry on with his experiment-

Wait. John stopped that thought mid-sentence. No. If Mark was just an experiment, then that would mean he was using Mark, and that wasn't what John did, especially to someone as sweet as Mark. John tried to focus on the smooth golden skin of Mark's neck as his lips trailed down, but the sinking feeling in his stomach was too prominent. His teeth tugged at Mark's ear, eliciting a moan, but John's mind was wandering.

Before he took this any further, maybe he had to analyze what his experiment was, exactly. 

Or maybe he could halt the experiment for tonight and think about it tomorrow, after he'd shagged a hot bartender. In all honesty, an opportunity like this would not come around very often, and John figured he best make the most of it.

"Oh, fuck, John. Touch me." Mark moaned. John grinned and obliged, simply and gently grabbing the man's crotch through his pants. 

John cleared his throat, trying to keep a clear head as well. "Do you mind if we move this to your bedroom before this goes any further?"

Mark nodded, but before John could pull himself off of him, Mark somehow managed to swiftly flip the two of them so John was beneath him, pressing his lips firmly against John's and darting a pleasantly warm tongue inside before rising and pulling John up with him. Before they moved even a step from the couch, the kissing resumed, Mark's hand going to the small of John's back to pull him tighter. John's right hand rested on Mark's chest while his left hand slid down to Mark's still-clothed hardening cock, reminding him where this was headed tonight.

"Ah, yes." Mark's head fell back for an instant before coming back so his eyes locked with John's in an intense heated gaze. "To the bedroom."

John's heart pounded as he followed Mark into his bedroom. Sex with a man was nearly foreign territory to him; he was certainly far less experienced than with a woman, but he was determined to give Mark a good night.

Once Mark pushed the door closed, his hands were on John's hips, fingering the belt of John's trousers as their lips mashed together in a bruising, painful sort of pleasure. 

"Feel free to stop me if we're going too fast," Mark gave John a brief look of concern before it melted into something far more smoldering. "But these trousers have got to come off."

John laughed and spread his arms apart. "Be my guest."

Mark immediately whipped off John's belt and worked on pulling his trousers off. "How is it that I managed to get down to my pants within the first five minutes, but you get to wait till we get into the bedroom to even get your trousers off? Doesn't seem fair."

"Oh?" John asked, raising an eyebrow. He kicked his trousers away and smiled. "Then let me be the first to do this."

Without breaking eye contact with Mark, John slowly lowered his pants to his ankles, and then kicked them off as well.

"Fuck," Mark breathed. "Nice cock."

John couldn't help but laughing then, and he stepped towards Mark, his arms going all the way around his slender waist. Mark leaned his head forward and they were kissing again.

"I could do this all night," Mark murmured.

"Mm, but please don't," John countered. Mark pulled away with an expression of mock-offense. "I mean, kissing is lovely and all, but if you're as good at sex as you are at kissing, I'd rather not waste any more time."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry darlings, that's all I can muster for tonight. I'm feeling quite ill and need some sleep now. I promise to update tomorrow. Stay tuned!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehh, I decided to just make this a new chapter so as to not confuse anybody.

Mark pulled John onto his bed, his hips rising up immediately to grind his cock gently against John's.

"I want-" John's breath hitched, "I need to find out right now if your cock tastes as good as it feels."

"There's only one way to find out." Mark slid up to sitting and John readjusted his position, laying on his stomach between Mark's spread legs. There was nothing left between them now, so John dipped his head and took as much of Mark's cock in his mouth as possible. "Fuck, John!" Mark pounded the pillow with his fist. "There's no need to be shy!"

John struggled to not laugh as he slid his tongue along the underside of Mark's shaft, gently teasing with just the tip. Encouraged by the constant stream of moans dispersed with the occasionally "Fuck." or "God, yes." or "Jesus, John." John started turning his head, trying to fit more of Mark into his mouth. Still, Mark's cock was fairly large- surprisingly large for a man of his average stature, and John opted to help him along by grasping the base with his left hand and Mark's balls with his right, propping himself up on his elbows to change the angle. 

" _Oh,_ God." Mark's whole body convulsed, pushing his cock farther into the back of John's throat. John willed his throat to not contract, and slowly slid his mouth to the tip of Mark's cock, avoiding any possibility of gagging. He directed more of his focus on pumping the base of Mark's cock and massaging his balls, and lazily tongued the bottom of his shaft, listening intently to hear the soft noises Mark was making. His own erection was all but forgotten, but John didn't mind. The thick, soft skin of Mark's cock was one of the best things he'd ever tasted, and it only made him impossibly harder, so he allowed part of his attention to be directed towards self-satisfaction, rutting his aching cock against the mattress in time with all the other motions going on. His heart pounding faster with adrenaline to the rhythm of his hands on Mark's cock and balls, his lips sliding to the tip repeatedly, his cock fucking the mattress, every motion going faster and faster, egged on by Mark's low guttural moans.

"Ohh..." Mark sighed deeply, bringing his hands up to cover his face. "I'm going to... I'm going to-"

John didn't even consider backing off now. Instead, without removing his mouth from Mark's cock, he brought his hands up to Mark's wrists to yank them away from his face, pinning them to the pillow above them. Their eyes locked, John's pleading _let me see you come._

And Mark did, freely allowing copious, warm semen to coat the inside of John's throat while he let out an unrestrained scream. John's stomach fluttered and his balls tightened; he swallowed down Mark's come and immediately grasped his own cock, bringing himself to the edge in a matter of seconds, and coming into the rumpled sheets. 

Both of them lay there, gasping and letting out short sighs before either of them managed to catch their breath. 

"I don't know about you," Mark said, pulling John up to lay beside him. "But I think I'd like to do that again sometime."

John smiled sleepily and murmured his consent.

 

An hour and seventeen minutes later, John was chasing Sherlock across a bridge. Back at Mark's place, he had gone down the hall to get a glass of water from the kitchen and heard his phone buzz. Out of instinct, he checked it, of course being greeted with an urgent message from Sherlock about a case- one of the most complex and dangerous in months. 

The man they were chasing now seemed to be involved in a murder ring specialized in performing Columbian neckties on unsuspecting tourists after brutally beating and raping them. There had been thirteen victims found in the last two nights alone. All Sherlock had to text John was " **rape &columbian neckties. 13v. meet @ S.chester Park asap**" and John was willing to sacrifice a blissful night of post-coital cuddling with his new date. 

He'd have to put of this supposed experiment for at least a few more hours. 


	6. Chapter 6

John checked his phone as soon as he and Sherlock all but crawled up to the flat. The ring's core had been taken down, but there were definitely a few members out on the loose, no doubt still continuing with their Columbian necktie pattern. Sherlock wanted to work through the night, but even he was exhausted enough for sleep, and they had to wait to receive test results on several blood and tissue samples, which wouldn't be done until dawn the next morning. 

There was no text from Mark, so after John had situated Sherlock with an ice pack for a bruised cheekbone and a cup of tea to calm the adrenaline high they both were still on, he went up to bed to finally collect his thoughts.

This experiment. His hypothesis was that Sherlock was gay. Or... mostly asexual? Oh, buggers, and he hadn't even considered the possibility that Sherlock could be bisexual. But then again, what were the odds that two male roommates, both in their mid-to-late thirties, who were essentially strangers upon their first day living together, would _both_ be bisexual? This experiment was not off to a good start. Well, he'd ask him then, in the morning. Flat out, he'd ask what Sherlock was. And then he'd find a new partner every night until... until what? Until Sherlock cracked? 

Yes, John decided. Until he could prove that... sex _did_ alarm Sherlock, perhaps. It had to. As was his earlier observation, any other bloke or girl who was in Sherlock's position would have at least said something by now. 

His experiment certainly was not as concrete as some of Sherlock's, but he thought he deserved some merit for having the motivation.

The only real problem was Mark, and John's feelings for Mark. Perhaps talking to Mark would have to happen before much else could proceed. 

Or perhaps, based on Sherlock's responses, John could carry on the experiment only with using Mark. Well, of course, not _using_ , but... yes, using. 

 

The next morning, John went downstairs in time to see Sherlock making coffee.

Before John could comment on this rare happenstance, Sherlock clarified, "I'm glad you're awake. Those results will be done by six this morning. Here, have a cuppa to wake yourself up. We've got to get going."

John grabbed the mug and sat down. "Sherlock, are you asexual?"

"No."

Well, then. That was much easier than John thought. He decided to press further. "Are you gay?"

"No."

Oh.

"Straight. You _are_ straight." This was surprising.

"Of course not."

"I don't understand," John said, swallowing the last bit of his scalding black coffee and rising. _Bisexual_ was on the tip of his tongue, but he felt ridiculous now for considering it, or even pressing his best friend about any of this at all. 

"What a surprise. Out the door with you. Get a cab. I'll be out in a moment."

 

And by the time Sherlock and John were eating paninis in a little deli off the main street for lunch, all the members of the Columbian necktie gang (as John liked to refer to them as) had been taken down and put into custody. From there, Sherlock and John didn't care what happened to any of them, as long as they were kept away from murdering tourists.

John was too tired to remember what he was supposed to ask Sherlock in regards to his experiment, and Sherlock didn't seem like talking either, so once they'd cleaned their plates, they stumbled into a cab and went home. 

John immediately fell into bed and went to sleep in an instant to the muffled noise of Sherlock showering and going to his bedroom as well. For neither of the men was it their first time napping midday, but for John, this _was_ his first experience being woken at four in the afternoon by one extremely attractive bartender. 

"Sherlock let me in," Mark whispered from his place at the end of the bed as soon as John's eyes were completely open. "Do you often nap in the afternoon? I mean, I assumed you were _older_ than I was, but I had no idea-"

"Bugger off," John grumbled with a grin, attempting to shove Mark off the bed. "Old man needs his sleep."

"I made you coffee. Sherlock said you both were on a case? Chasing a gang of Columbian druglords or something?"

"Mm," John said, sitting up and accepting the coffee that was offered to him. "Rapists. I think they were all English, um, but their thing was doing a Columbian necktie on all their victims, who incidentally were also all tourists."

"Columbian necktie?" Mark squinted at John. 

"Yeah, you know... where they slit the throat and yank out the tongue through the hole," John explained.

"Sick."

"Is it? I hardly know anymore," John chuckled. "I've become so desensitized to all of it."

"I'm not sure that's a good thing," Mark pondered. He bent down to kiss John's forehead. "I've got to get going, but I just wanted to see you and make sure you didn't get too beat up."

"Is "didn't get too beat up" a euphemism for "still are constantly thinking about that amazing and unfortunately interrupted night of spectacular sex that will most certainly be repeated as soon as possible?" Because, don't worry. I didn't get too beat up."

Mark laughed and squeezed John's thigh, then stood to go. 

"I'll call you." 

"You do that," John nodded and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes. He watched Mark leave and suddenly he knew exactly how this experiment had to go. He couldn't lose Mark. There was no way, not now. But he couldn't stop having sex within earshot of Sherlock. The game was on. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote an AMAZING FLAWLESS INCREDIBLE LOVELY chapter 7 last night... but there was an error that deleted the whole thing. Luckily I could remember most of it, but this is not as good as it was. Any advice would be nice, but none of you know what I wanted the chapter to present, so I don't know. Also I'm sleepy. Good night, loves.

"John, please slow down," Mark complained. "I mean, occasionally I like it- ungnh- rough, I like it rough sometimes, but this- I'm still so tight."

John stilled and immediately, slowly pulled out.

"Hey!" Mark interjected. "No, I didn't mean stop!"

John deliberately waved a bottle of lube in the air so Mark could see his intention.

"You just have a drier arse than I'm used to," John teased as he slicked up his cock.

"Oh, shut it," Mark pulled John into a deep kiss and John used the opportunity- while his lips were still moving, biting, and tugging at Mark's- to gently slide his cock back into Mark's still slightly-gaping hole. Mark's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. John sighed softly against his open mouth, reacting to the pleasant sensation.

"Much better," Mark assured him.

"All right?"

Mark laughed. "Only if you get moving."

John grinned and gripped the headboard behind Mark with his right hand so his left could grip Mark's arse, and he started moving, fucking his partner faster and deeper than before.

"Oh, God. Show a man some mercy," Mark moaned. 

"Let me know if I need to adjust anything," John reminded him, biting his lip out of concentration and nervousness combined.

"Yes. _Faster_ ," Mark choked out. John grunted and pushed his hips at a wilder, more wanton pace.

"God, I could- ah, fuck, yes," Mark gasped. "Could come from this alone."

John realized Mark had to be over-exaggerating and probably would need at least a little bit of help. He slid his left hand along Mark's pelvis to grasp his cock.

"No!" Mark yelled, pushing John's hand away. "I mean it. You're very - oh, Jesus- good at this, and I want to- ah, want to- want to make this last at least a few more minutes."

John nodded.

"Um-augnghn," Mark choked out, "But please, faster."

John willingly obliged, quickly starting to feel sweat trickle down his forehead. Immediately Mark's hands rose to his face, his thumbs stroking his brow, and he pulled John in for a slow, languid kiss, contrasting the fast pace at which he was fucking his partner.

"So close."

These words triggered something in John's brain. _Close. Closer_. He abruptly stopped, leaving Mark gasping too much to object, and pulled Mark's legs up and over his shoulders so their hips were locked together. His unrelenting pace continued from there until Mark's orgasm hit without warning at all. He cried out, clenching around John and grabbing his hips as his cock continued to thrust in and out of him. 

Mark's orgasm was the only warning John had for his own, following immediately after. His last thought before going over the edge was "Listen for Sherlock, or there's no experiment," and then his vision lost focus, he vaguely could feel his throat burning from shouting, and the noise of a crash from downstairs rang in his ears.

When they were tangled on top of one another, left panting and gasping for air, John tried to focus. Although dazed and feeling calmer than he'd felt in a long time, he had to press on. He cleaned himself off quickly and offered Mark some assistance, then made his excuses and promises to return shortly. Pulling on a pair of boxers, he left his room and jogged downstairs. 

To see Sherlock in his natural habitat.

No sign of anything broken, nothing out of place. Sherlock was staring through a microscope, looking calm and collected as always. 

"What was that noise?"

"What noise?"

John furrowed his brow and poured himself a glass of water before returning upstairs. 


	8. Chapter 8

**come to the bar**

 

John was just getting off his shift at the hospital when he received Mark's text, so instead of going to Baker Street, he went straight to the bar. 

After weaving past a mingling group of sweaty drunks, he finally reached the counter.

"Oy, mate, what's up?" John asked, grinning at the handsome man over the bar. Mark frowned; the sight immediately filled John with dread. "Mark, did something happen?"

He sat down at the bar, and Mark immediately poured him a glass of bourbon. "Bloke named Mycroft Holmes was in here about an hour ago and said I had to break things off with you or he'd have my throat slit. Showed me a government badge and all, or I would've phoned the police and gotten him arrested."

"Mycroft Holmes," John growled contemptibly. "That's my flatmate's brother."

"Oh. He was very persuasive. Don't know what his deal was, but well, he sounded very serious."

"I've no doubt he was, unfortunately," John admitted. He stared at his drink, swirling it a bit. Why would Mycroft do this to him? He had thought only Sherlock made a point to ruin every relationship that lasted more than a week; now every Holmes had to be in on this little game? Oh God, what if it was because he knew about John's unofficial experiment? There was no way he could have figured that much out. Most of John's experiment was inside his head, really- no tangible evidence. 

"John, I really like you. You're the best shag I've had in months," Mark admitted, staring with sincerity into John's eyes. John nodded in reciprocation, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. "You'd be a great boyfriend, but I think neither of us are equipped to make a life or death decision to be together."

John nodded again, anger for every Holmes on the planet lighting a match in his chest. "I understand. I really liked you, too. And I agree, and... I'm sorry."

Mark smiled, "Yeah, me too. Mycroft told me not to tell, you know, but I thought it'd be better than leaving you without a word."

John nodded again, too frustrated for words. He sat up and leaned across the bar, pressing a kiss to the corner of Mark's mouth, and then he left without having taken a drop of bourbon. 

There was only one place to go now. One person he had to see.

 

"Mycroft." 

John marched across the hall, stopping right in front of Mycroft, looking angrily up into his eyes. "You bloody fucking bastard."

"You've been having more sex around your flat that normal recently, and without consideration for your poor flatmate, even."

"C'mon, _Mike._  We're both adults here. You threatened to kill Mark just because you didn't want to watch me and a mate go at it over your little monitors? Too graphic for poor Althea to stomach? Or does this really support my theory that every bloody Holmes in all of England wants to ruin my love life?!"

"Oh, you loved Mark?"

"I- fuck off, Mycroft. I could have. That's the thing- you've ruined any possibility. I'd like to know why," John stated. "It is, you know, _my life_ , after all."

"Funny thing, love. Humans often seek something they are already in possession of."

John narrowed his eyes. "You say that as if you're not human."

Mycroft shrugged with a smirk. "Deduce what you will."

"Look, Mycroft, I'm not a moron. I love Sherlock. Sherlock loves me. Let's say I misspoke earlier; I guess I should've said "sex life." But seriously, why? Why can't I have that? What is there to gain from eliminating that part of my life?"

Mycroft didn't answer. He looked down at his shoes, shuffling one from side to side almost like he was dancing. 

"Carry on with your experiment, John." And then he was gone.

John groaned, and had no other choice than to go home.

 

He had zero energy left to talk to a Holmes, so he went up to his room immediately upon his arrival to the flat. The sun hadn't even set yet, and although John was exhausted, he wasn't tired, so he stayed up, updating his blog and checking his email, but by the time 8:43 rolled around, he was fast asleep.

He woke up with the desire for sex, but with a complete lack of arousal, which was something he'd never experienced before. The realization made him recall the frustration he had felt the day before. Going to a bar to chat up a girl or bloke seemed futile. He had to talk to Sherlock.

"I love you-" John said the moment he saw his flatmate, laying uselessly on the couch. He figured he'd be straightforward here. 

"Why state unfalteringly obvious things that have already been said?" Sherlock grumbled.

"-but you and your brother are both complete and utter dicks." 

Sherlock turned his head, pausing in thought for a moment. "I know."

"Mycroft forced Mark to break up with me."

Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed slowly out through his nose. "I'm sorry. Do you want to... talk about it? Shall I make you some tea to comfort your loss while we... discuss?"

John nearly laughed at how forced Sherlock's generosity was, but he was still angry. "I need to know if you had anything to do with it."

"How could I possibly?"

"You didn't say anything to Mycroft about Mark?"

"Why would I?"

"I don't know, Sherlock. There are too many strange things going on in my life. I'm not sure what to make of all this."

Sherlock sat up, his legs over the edge of the couch like a proper human being. "John, I assure you I had nothing to do with this. And I am sorry. You two seemed to really, uh... enjoy each other's company."

John snorted and grinned, "Thanks, mate." 

He went into the kitchen for some tea, and the two men spent the next hour and three minutes in silence, drinking tea and reading.

The first interruption in their tranquility was the buzz of Sherlock's phone. Sherlock stood as he read the text.

"Scotland Yard," he muttered, sounding disinterested. 

"Case?"

"Sounds like... maybe not. I'll let you know," Sherlock said, starting to put on his coat. 

"The last thing you left the flat for was barely a five. Why are you leaving the flat for a text from Scotland Yard? That sounds like maybe a one, if anything," John inquired. 

"John, I haven't left the flat in eight days," Sherlock clarified, staring somberly into John's eyes. "I'd leave the flat if Lestrade wanted to meet up for coffee and scones, to be perfectly honest."

John laughed and watched Sherlock leave.

His mood being significantly improved, John decided to venture out. There may have been a deep, repressed, psychological reason for him not to want to visit any bars for the time being, and he was at a sudden loss for how to pick up women without alcohol or crowds of drunken people dancing with carefree lust all around.

An idea sparked him, and he shot out a couple texts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IS IT OKAY. I tried to break apart all the John-centered sex, and (sorry guys) but I had to get rid of Mark. It's a Johnlock story, who are we kidding?
> 
> Smut to follow.


	9. Chapter 9

John spent the rest of the day in the flat, until evening. He'd never been set up on a blind date before, but the fact that he requested this himself motivated him to go through with it. 

Mike had texted him back immediately that morning, telling him only brief facts about his second cousin, Kristin. She was short with long brown hair and wasn't looking for anything serious, just like John.

When he arrived at the restaurant that evening, Kristin was already there.

"Hello." She smiled warmly. "You must be John. Mike didn't tell me a whole lot about you, just described you as a stocky military fellow with sandy hair."

"He described you as a short girl with brown hair," John admitted, chuckling.

"Really talking us up, isn't he?" 

John smiled. "So Mike's your second cousin?"

Kristin nodded, "But I think of him more as a college friend. I'd only met him a couple times before we found out we were both going to the same school for our master's, and you know how parents are. They wanted to make sure we both had someone there who we knew, so we stuck together for all four years."

"What's your degree?" 

"Doctor's degree in Veterinary medicine," she told him. "You?"

"I went into the military right after high school; I thought I'd become a doctor, but at the last minute I just... switched course, I guess you could say. I've always had a passion for medicine, though, so I become a military doctor."

"Wow, that's incredible."

"Well, it's no wonder Mike suggested you to me- working to become a Veterinary doctor is pretty incredible, too."

Kristin chuckled and shrugged, her eyes glinting. "Mike also mentioned you're not looking for anything serious."

John hesitated. "I... There's no way I can have a relationship with someone for more than about a week. I know that's not ideal, but, well, I just can't promise anything past that."

"Sounds like a bad gimmick, to be honest."

"I know," John groaned. "It's the other people in my life, really, who make it so impossible."

"Still sounds like a bad gimmick," Kristin countered. "But you're cute, Mike said I could trust you, and I don't want anything serious, either."

John grinned, sighing in relief. 

"And I'm not hungry in the slightest. Your place?'

John laughed, unable to believe his luck. He stood and took Kristin's hand, and the pair of them went out to the curb to hail a cab. 

Kristin didn't let go of John's hand in the cab, and once the door was shut, she kissed him on the cheek. He turned and gave her a flirty smile, then brought her lips closer, kissing her chastely. 

Kristin was the first to pull away, but she looked pleased. "Good kisser. I think this will work out well."

And it did, because an hour later, she was sitting on the floor, going down on John who was seated, mostly naked on the couch. "Mostly naked" meant his boxers were around his ankles, only one sock had made it off, and his shirt was unbuttoned, but still on. His head was tipped back, eyes closed, just enjoying the sensation of her soft, full lips sliding to the tip of his cock and coming back for more. Kristin herself still had her bra on, but somehow her bottom half was completely nude. 

After a moment, John felt and hear Kristin gasp around his cock, and he opened his eyes, looking down at her. Then, he realized while she was sucking him off, she was fingering herself. Although Kristin's fingers were working quickly between her legs, her face gave away no signs of being unfocused from John and making sure every motion of her mouth only added to his pleasure. 

"Would you like a hand with that?" John offered, struggling against the constrictions of his chest to get the words out.

Kristin slid her lips off and wiped her mouth. "Yes, please. Bit uncomfortable on the floor, here."

John nodded and helped her up to straddle his thighs. Her hand immediately went to his cock, dancing along the shaft down to his balls. John's head fell back again. " _Yes_."

He forced himself to look at her and keep his eyes open, but even this didn't last long as he pulled her into a kiss. While his tongue pushed her lips apart, gliding along the ridge of her teeth and pushing against hers, he trailed his fingers along her pelvis then made his way down to the soft, surprisingly gold, curls of her pubic hair. His finger worked its way past and through to find the wet nub of her clitoris, sliding his finger over it gently. He thought slow was best when it came to finding out what women were into. Her breath immediately quickened, and she pulled out of the kiss. 

"You're almost as good at that as I am. Just keep it soft, like that. And would you- if it isn't too much- would you-" Her body shuddered, her thighs quaking, too aroused for speech. Without removing her left hand from moving on John's cock, she pulled his hand to grasp her backside, guiding his fingers to her hole. "Just touch."

He obliged, moving his two index fingers in time on either side of her body, changing the angle every so often, anticipating the gasps he elicited from her pink mouth. She picked up the pace on the handjob she was giving him, and John took that as a sign for him to move fast as well. His hips couldn't help but buck up against her arm, and soon the strokes between her buttocks and against her clitoris were becoming rougher.

"Like that, like that," she encouraged. "F-fuck, John, feels so- so good." 

Without warning, her spine stiffened, as did her grasp on John's cock, firming near the tip as she came all over John's hand. The tightening around his cock, and the oddly arousing tightening of her arse muscles around his fingers behind her made him swell with intense climax, and he was soon sent over the edge as well. 

After the haze cleared, he heared the roar of a scream still ringing around the flat, echoing off the walls- his own scream. 

"That was hot," he breathed into Kristin's neck.

"Tell me about it," she murmured, grinning against John's neck. 

Suddenly, the sight of his flatmate came into focus past Kristin's shoulder as he blinked his eyes open. "Sherlock?"

Kristin turned her head and grinned. "Enjoy the show?"

Sherlock hummed, glancing up at them through his protective goggles. Orange vapor floated up from a small beaker in front of his face.

"Would you like to watch some more? I love an audience," she cooed, her attention more on Sherlock now than John. 

John looked at his flatmate. "I don't think that would be appropriate."

"He's already seen plenty, John," Kristin told him. "He didn't seem to object before."

"Well, he wouldn't, would he?" John countered, suddenly angry. "Sex doesn't alarm Sherlock."

He was aware that his voice was filled with bitterness, but he didn't care. Sherlock looked up from his project, his eyes still blurred behind the goggles, but John could guess Sherlock was looking at him. 

"Kiss him," Sherlock said, and Kristin laughed. She turned to John in all seriousness and caught John's lips with her own, making the kiss soft and slow, taking her time with him. John's eyes cracked open slightly in time to see Sherlock's bedroom door close. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really really need encouragement to continue this. What do you guys want to see? Is anyone reading this? Is it good? I don't know. LET ME KNOW. Please.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make this chapter uncomfortable and choppy because I feel that John's thoughts are probably that way.

Kristin left shortly after, explaining to John that she had to work at five tomorrow morning, so John spent the rest of the night lying awake in utter confusion.

If Sherlock wasn't asexual, how was he not reacting to this? There was no way he had that kind of control without being asexual. And what was with the whole "Kiss him" thing? And Sherlock going into his bedroom? And what about that night with Mark, when John had heard a crash downstairs? 

This experiment was only leading to more questions, and John had no idea how to handle it. 

He finally fell asleep in his own bed hours past midnight, feeling like there was something just out of reach. He had felt in control of his own experiment, but as usual, Sherlock was dominating the game. And he didn't even seem to know he was a part of it.

When morning came, John wasn't surprised in the slightest that he had a growing erection. His dreams had been very frantic, jumping from one stone to the next, faceless bodies floating in and out of his subconscious.

"Sherlock," John murmured, rubbing his eyes. His hands immediately left his face as he blushed. Sherlock? Was he calling for him? What did he need Sherlock for?

John glanced down at his cock, jutting up from his body and shook his head. How embarrassing. John assured himself Sherlock must have slipped into his final moments of dreaming; there was no way Sherlock could have heard him anyway. 

He decided to take care of this as soon as possible and attempt to carry on with his day as normal.

Except that something kept nagging at him. What was it? John stopped inside the bathroom, leaning back against the door. What was it? 

Sometimes when he woke up with a random hard-on, he took care of it quickly without letting himself become further aroused. That was not the case with this particular day, however. Today was a rare day where he wanted to think hard and find the source of what was making him so turned on.

What was it? 

He imagined every person he'd been with recently. The "Matthias" girl (John couldn't even remember her name), and that girl from the bar, and then Mark. _Mark._ No, that only brought bittersweet, warm feelings. Disappointing. Kristin was a bit better. He might be able to get off on- oh. 

His mind's film reel dragged up an image of Sherlock, and that clicked. That was it.

Oh, but why did _Sherlock_ have to be it? Buggers. John tried to bring Mark or Kristin back as he reached into his boxers and lightly stroked- _Sherlock._

No. _Stop this,_ John demanded. He grabbed his cock more firmly, almost threatening his mind to focus on something appropriate. 

But then Sherlock's clever little smirk flew into his mind. His cock seemed to swell, firming in his grasp. Ah, but that felt so good.

Well, if this was going to continue, he'd have to take precautions. He could hear Sherlock in the kitchen, glasses and vials clinking. John flicked the fan on and started the shower, hoping the noise would muffle any sounds he would surely not be able to suppress. He kept his mind carefully blank until he hid himself behind the curtain and under the hot stream of water. 

His eyes. That was it. The subject of most of his dreaming last night. Well, one night, one wank because of Sherlock wasn't that bad. Only if it became routine, and John didn't intend for that to be the case.

He palmed the tip of his cock lightly, letting his head fall back against the wet wall of the shower. Sherlock's eyes staring longingly and with care into John's. He didn't even have to use his imagination for that; Sherlock had looked at John this way several times before, and John had always felt his chest swell with pride whenever he was rewarded that way. 

This time, the reminder was going to his cock. He slid his fingers down to the tip slowly, and then realized he needed more. _Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock._ Oh, he'd give anything for Sherlock to be sucking him off right now. His cynical gaze peering up at John as his perfect pink lips slowly took his cock down his throat... Or maybe his cock against his arsehole... John immediately slid two fingers in, choking out a cry as he imagined it was Sherlock gently penetrating him. His fingers worked their way up to his prostate, and he couldn't hold back his rumbling moan as he found the spot. The hand on his cock quickened, getting messier with their strokes. 

"Sh- Sh- lock," John gasped, panting. He pulled his head away from the wall, determined to remain standing through this. He could feel the tension building up, the release only moments away. "Fuck, like that."

His eyes squeezed shut, and he could practically feel Sherlock's mouth on him, his fingers up his arse. Suddenly, he shouted and his hands shot out blindly to grab the shower curtain and the metal bar along the shower wall; his come painted the shower as his cock jerked and twitched uncontrollably. 

No longer able to stay standing, John fell to his knees, feeling tears in his eyes.

Fuck. That wasn't part of the experiment at all.


	11. Chapter 11

John collected himself and left the bathroom, trying to behave as naturally as possible. His attempts didn't matter, however, as Sherlock was not in the flat. John knew this immediately because upon opening the door, he came face to face with a yellow paper taped to the wall opposite the bathroom.

_**Case. 24 Winchester.** _

John arrived at the scene in the bustling center of London just in time to see Sherlock lecture Lestrade on the importance of keeping Anderson at least 100 yards away from any dead bodies. 

"He muddles up any usable evidence! Always!" Sherlock shouted. "Ah, John."

The moment Sherlock's eyes landed on John, he smiled. Bloody fuck, it was the same smile John had wanked to in the shower just half an hour ago. 

"Take a look at this man's eyebrow, John," Sherlock continued, waving John over. Lestrade grimaced as John got close enough to peer over the lanky corpse. 

John tried to focus, despite Sherlock _literally_ breathing down his neck. The taller man's body was so close to him, he'd figure Sherlock would even be getting uncomfortable by now. But he didn't back down. 

"Well, I'd say that half was singed off, but by the looks of the skin around... Is it at all possible at for half of his eyebrow to have been shot off?" John asked, shuffling a bit and straightening his spine to look Sherlock in the eyes. 

"Good. Asking the right questions." Sherlock declared, and he snapped his magnifying glass shut. "Lestrade, my initial assumption was correct. I commend you for wasting police time to "be sure." I'll see you at the Yard."

And with that, Sherlock strode away, calling, "John."

John hurried after him, the duo making their exit between two brick buildings. Suddenly, Sherlock whirled around and grabbed John by his shirt collar, flinging him against a brick wall.

" _Stop it,_ John," he hissed.

John's eyes widened in utter confusion as he exclaimed quickly, "I haven't done anything yet, Sherlock! What're you going on about?"

Sherlock's eyes softened for a second, but went back to their steely gaze just as quickly.

"Why are you suddenly into exhibitionism? Stop bringing people 'round the flat. Stop all the mindless sex. I don't want to see it," Sherlock scolded expressively.

"Most of the time I've no idea when you'll be at home-"

"Most of the time?"

"And the _rest_ of the time, I'm too fucking horny to give a damn what you see or hear," John explained, his anger rising. Sherlock glared unerringly into John's eyes, and soon John realized what he'd just said. "Oh, buggers. Sherlock, I'm really sorry. No, I am. Mycroft was right. If seeing too much of _that_ around the flat is a problem, I understand, and I promise it'll stop."

Sherlock continued to glare into John's eyes until he spun on his heel and walked to the end of the alley, somehow managing to snag a cab within seconds. John tried to catch up, but the moment Sherlock got in, he knew his efforts would be useless.

Except that Sherlock didn't close the door. He muttered something to the driver, and waited for John to hop in the cab. 

"Ta, mate," John said hesitantly.

"I'm..." Sherlock began. "Sorry. You must understand: Your sex life cannot hinder your invaluable work you contribute to the case."

"The case?" John inquired stupidly.

" _The_ case, John. Any case. The case at hand, you know," Sherlock rambled impatiently. "I need you to be with me, and you've missed two cases in the last week, and nearly missed the one today. Sex is becoming detrimental to the work."

"I understand."

"Perfect!" Sherlock grinned obnoxiously. "Because I've set you up with someone. Your date is in twenty-three minutes. Hope you don't mind."


	12. Chapter 12

"Date? Sherlock, you've just said I need to stop having sex so often!"

Sherlock sighed. "Once again, you have missed the obvious. I know for a fact this girl will not have sex with you. Not right away, at least. You'll be able to feel satisfied in a relationship without the hindrance of physical intimacy."

John gaped at his flatmate. 

"Apart from kissing, cuddling, the like," Sherlock carried on, sounding a tad more nervous, his cheeks tinging as he tried to maintain eye contact with John. Bloody hell, this was a weird conversation to be having. Well, they had already come this far. John had no problem taking it further.

"Sherlock, you're an utter moron. I already feel satisfied in a relationship. This one. You and me. All I'm lacking in my life is sex. Now," John quickly continued before Sherlock could interject his opinion, "I heard what you had to say, and I understand and respect that, but I don't see the point of going to see a woman who will play the same role in my life as you already do."

Sherlock fell silent and stared straight ahead for the rest of the cab ride.

 

 

Ivy's appearance was simple and frankly ordinary, but John didn't mind. She was wearing a low-cut navy blue party dress when John met her for coffee that afternoon. 

"I was in the military for twelve years," John began after they had each made their introductions.

"Oh, that's sexy."

John cringed internally. He hated the fact that girls were drawn to his military background. That's why he generally used it for openers. War had excited him, and the fact that he was able to use his skills to help people who really needed it felt incredibly gratifying, but at no point in his time in Afghanistan did he ever once consider doing any of it to make himself look "sexy."

"I worked as a doctor, and now I work at the clinic."

Ivy nodded, but didn't speak. Her eyes twinkled. Both John and Ivy fell silent.

"Well, I can grab the check, if you want to head back to my place," John offered weakly, knowing this was a bad idea already.

"Of course," she smiled lightly.

 

Ten minutes later, John was offering Ivy a glass of wine.

Twenty minutes later, she had taken two sips of her wine and talked about her two dogs.

Forty minutes later, Ivy nervously revealed she was a virgin.

An hour later, John took her virginity shamelessly. He wouldn't have done so if she hadn't begged for it, of course, which she did.

"I know we didn't click, but physically, you're everything I look for in a man. I'm not into the tall, dark, mysterious type," Ivy had explained, and John had nearly laughed out loud at the cliche yet completely accurate description of his flatmate. Nonetheless, he couldn't miss the opportunity. Sherlock vowed she wouldn't have sex with him, and somehow he managed to have her ask for it still. 

 

Seventy minutes later, Sherlock walked in the door to find Ivy sprawled across the coffee table, completely naked, her legs tangled around John's. John's hands were firmly gripping her breasts by her request, and he pummeled himself into her sloppily. Not how he usually went about things, but Ivy seemed to have a vision in mind.

"Rotate your hips counterclockwise, and have your dick press along the roof of my vagina," she panted. 

Sherlock stared, expressionless. 

John, unaware his flatmate was only a couple feet behind him, knew he had to make this situation at least a little bit more comfortable. The table was surprisingly a turn-on for John, especially with fast, meaningless sex like this, but apart from that, he was getting nothing out of this. In fact, his erection was slowly softening. He was afraid he'd have to start making excuses, which is something he'd never done before. 

Taking charge, and instead of complying with Ivy's eerily specific request, John rolled onto his back and pulled himself up, so Ivy was sitting on his lap. 

And there, he came face to face with his flatmate. He opened his mouth to say something, but Sherlock rose a finger to his lip and shook his head. He went into his bedroom, leaving John to finish the job.

"Ivy, this is great, really, but I don't think I'm going to, um, last... if we keep this up. I'm going to pull out- gently!- now, and... and... let's go back to the beginning a bit."

Ivy nodded enthusiastically and let John distance himself. He went to sit on the couch, taking a deep breath. 

"A bathroom would be lovely right about now," Ivy smiled prettily.

John wordlessly pointed down the hall.

"Ta," she sang, and exited into the bathroom. The moment the door closed, Sherlock's bedroom door opened.

Sherlock stalked towards John and glared darkly into his eyes.

"How did this happen? What went wrong?" He growled.

"Sherlock, please leave. Ivy will be out in-"

"Ivy will spend precisely seven-point-three minutes in the bathroom, over-dramatizing losing her virginity and having rough sex with an army doctor. Before this goes any further, you must stop," Sherlock commanded.

"Sherlock, I- I don't understand. I told you I did, but I really bloody don't. What the fuck is wrong with me having sex right now? There are no cases!" John exclaimed.

"She's- she doesn't mean anything to you, John."

"You set me up with her!"

"Yes, I did. To talk to her and form a relationship."

"And why was that, exactly? That woman is everything I don't want in a relationship."

"I thought I had deduced... John, what do you want in a relationship?"

"You," John blurted. 

And before he had time for his words to hit him, Sherlock interjected, "Sex?"

"You don't want sex, Sherlock! You've made that very clear!"

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but John cut him off: "Yes, I know you're not asexual."

Sherlock nodded, adding, "You're the only one to whom I've ever been sexually attracted."

The words were so flippant, so carelessly blunt.

"How did you- but you-" John muttered, his face growing uncomfortably warm. He had to have heard him right. Sherlock... sexually attracted to _him_? Sherlock and sex never seemed like a possibility before this moment. Sherlock. And sex. John had to gather his thoughts. "You never let on... this whole time, you've been in the flat while I'm with girls, or when I was with Mark... Sherlock, the reason I did all that in your presence was to prove that you have sexual needs just like any human being!"

Sherlock took a step backing, his eyes looking hurt. There was a pause where John suddenly had no clue what game they were playing now. "Doctor Watson. That was torture. I don't enjoy watching you get off with others. Why would you-?"

His gaze fell to the floor, looking immensely troubled.

"Fine. You proved your hypothesis, I suppose. I've wanked with you in mind, every day, for the past week. Hearing the noises you make..." Sherlock let out a long, deep breath. "The noises were the biggest factor in arousing me."

"But I was watching you, Sherlock. I wanted to see your reaction, and you never gave one!"

Sherlock's eyes widened. "Perhaps that was so you wouldn't react like you're reacting now! I'm a freak, John."

"Wanting to have sex with your flatmate doesn't make you a freak," John reminded him patiently. "The first night, with that girl who I let stay in my room. The one who kept begging for a man named Matthias. That was the first night-"

"The first night I realized that if you continued to have sex in the flat, my sexual attraction to my own flatmate would become detrimental to the work," Sherlock nodded. 

John's stomach lurched at Sherlock's honesty, but continued, "Sherlock, I went downstairs and you appeared totally unfazed. I was... intrigued, to say the least. The thought that nothing would break you was interesting to contemplate."

"I've learned to hide it, to get rid of the problem quickly," Sherlock bristled slightly. "The honest truth? I wanked so rough, I surprised myself. Barely got my trousers closed when you came downstairs that night."

John's previously-softening cock suddenly twitched at the thought of Sherlock doing some late-night wanking.

"And the girl you watched me fuck against the wall?"

"You watched me walk straight into my room."

John swallowed thickly. "Mark?"

"Hottest thing I'd ever heard."

John suddenly remembered something. "There was a crash. I remember hearing a noise."

"Shattered a whole set of test tubes because of my careless, desperate wanking against the table," Sherlock admitted. "I knew you'd be down even quicker because of the noise, so I couldn't finish myself off then. I had to think of the worst things to make my erection go away."

Sherlock sounded in pain, but John had to know everything. His cock was standing at full attention, but he didn't care. "And then Mark was gone because of Mycroft."

"I could see yourself getting attached," Sherlock explained indifferently.

"Would that have been so bad?"

"Yes!' Sherlock shouted suddenly. "Yes, when you're supposed to be with me, that would be a very bad outcome to all of this."

"Fine. Kristin. You watched that the whole time."

"Your back was to me," Sherlock reminded him.

"You... wanked in the room?"

"In the kitchen, to be specific. Kristin saw the whole thing. I was afraid she'd tell, but I imagine I almost... wanted her to. I wanted you to know by then. John, my masturbatory routine up to this past week has been fairly balanced. I wank once every Wednesday, when crime rates are often lowest statistically, to relieve some tension. By the time you started with Kristin, I had been wanking four or five times a day. I've become incredibly efficient. No noise, not much of a mess. The sight of you in the same room was most definitely a turn-on, but I remained as disconnected as possible."

"And then you left the room to have another wank."

"Another and another and another. What good does it do for me, John? Wanking was never part of the routine until I met you, yet it's never been completely satisfying, no matter how violent an orgasm I am able to achieve."

"Sherlock, you'll have to forgive me. I'm not sure I can fully see things your way yet," John rambled stupidly. "I'm not sure if I'm attracted to you in the same way-"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Here's a simple solution: you are."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WORKED SO HARD ON THIS SO YOU GUYS BETTER LIKE IT  
> SO MUCH AWKWARD SMUT
> 
> My family thinks I REALLY like Pinterest because I always pull it up quickly whenever they happen to come into the room while I'm writing fanfiction. Gay fanfiction. Really smutty gay fanfiction.

"You are," Sherlock repeated. "I heard you in the shower. You did a poor job of keeping quiet, I'm afraid, and I just had to see- or rather, hear- what the fuss was about. I got off to those incredible sounds you were making. All the sounds you've been making all week. 

"You... g-got off?" John was hardly able to speak as every thought, every emotion, every sensation was being projected to his cock. "You areattracted to women too, though."

"No."

"Well, the sounds- you just said you get off to it!" John wasn't willing to admit what Sherlock was insisting upon. This couldn't be real.

"I've never gotten off to a woman before."

"But... I don't understand. Why were you-" John's brain was so muddled. He still didn't want to think of what Sherlock was implying.

"No, _John,_ " Sherlock said purposefully. John's stomach lurched. Of course Sherlock was talking about... it. The thing John feared. Or perhaps didn't want to acknowledge for fear of disappointment. "Your voice is the only thing that's ever made me hard."

John swallowed thickly, trying not to let his eyes bulge. "You're gay."

"No."

"I don't understand!"

"What the fuck is there to understand?" Sherlock shouted, his eyes blazing back at John. "I'm fucking attracted to _you._ I want to elicit the sounds I've been hearing all week- and occasionally before this week- from _you._ No one else."

"You get off... to the sound of my voice," John repeated, not sure what he was misunderstanding.

"Always. Just now, too. In my room, of course. "Getting off" isn't anything for you to be aroused by, John." John forced himself to not look down at his hardening cock. Sherlock continued, "I was just in my bedroom moments ago, fucking my own hand, and I'm already hard again. There's nothing attractive about that."

"Stop talking right now, Sherlock," John warned. His cock strained against the cloth of his pants he had hastily pulled on when Sherlock appeared minutes ago, but even with that constriction, he was absolutely certain he'd be able to come on the spot if Sherlock continued like this. "Listen, I'm going to _get off_ with Amy-"

"Ivy-"

John gritted his teeth. "And then we'll talk. I can't talk when I'm like this."

"Agreed," Sherlock said, and went to sit in his chair, his erection awkwardly pointing up from between his spread legs.

"Sherlock," John squeaked. But then the bathroom door opened, and Ivy came sidling back up to John.

"I liked that on the table," she whispered. John nodded nervously and glanced at Sherlock, silently asking Ivy a question with his eyes. "He's cute. Please let him stay."

John groaned internally at her own contradiction, and the fact that she spoke of Sherlock like he was a puppy and not one of the sexiest, most powerful, most intelligent men in all of England. 

John didn't respond. He pulled Ivy's lips against his own, but instead of feeling a surge of passion or attraction or anything at all, John felt empty and sick to his stomach.

He glanced at Sherlock, his hand remaining completely motionless at the base of his clothed cock. John carried on kissing Ivy, unintentionally moaning at the sight of Sherlock locking eyes with him. Something flashed across Sherlock's face, and suddenly Sherlock was standing. _Focus on Ivy, focus on Ivy, focus on Ivy._

 _Sherlock._ He took a step closer to John and Ivy and announced, "So sorry to interrupt, but there's an emergency. Lestrade's been murdered."

John held back a guffaw as Ivy stepped away, horrified, clearly not having a clue who Sherlock was talking about, but seemingly disturbed by the news nonetheless.

John found the situation even funnier when he realized Sherlock's phone was no where in sight, and he'd done nothing but stare at John for the past three minutes.

"Oh," John tried to sound genuine. "Oh, bloody hell. Ivy, you should go. We need to- oh, this is serious."

John tried to look distressed as Ivy kissed his cheek, wrapped her coat around her naked body, grabbed her clothes, and left the flat with commercial solemnity.

"Am I allowed to be angry at you?" John asked. Sherlock didn't respond. His eyes grew dark and serious, and suddenly John was manhandled to face the other way, away from Sherlock.

"Sherlock! What?!" John sputtered, not sure whether to fight the taller man's hands on his hips.

"Consent?" Sherlock muttered gruffly.

"Yes," John replied without a second of hesitation. Sherlock's left hand slid down to grab his crotch, his right hand undoing the belt and pulling down the zipper so his left had better access. John gave him full control, opting not to move, letting Sherlock take the reins. He seemed to know what he was doing- or at least, what he wanted to do.

"Bloody trousers," Sherlock grumbled, shoving them down past John's hips with his pants so they sat on his thighs, limiting leg movement. However, this was of little consequence to John, as Sherlock's bare hand was now cupping John's bare- and very hard- erection.

Sherlock wormed one finger up John's arsehole, pushing inside him as far as he could reach. John mouthed wordlessly, hardly able to breathe. 

A second finger soon was added, fitting in too snugly for the range of motion John had in his legs, but nothing mattered except the fact that Sherlock's cock had to be fucking John's arse _right now._

Which is what happened next. 

Sherlock had somehow stripped now without John noticing and was pressing his solid, heated cock against his hole.

John had no words. He moaned lightly, nearly a whine.

"Do you want this?"

John nodded, choking out a pained cry. Oh, how he wanted it. He needed it. 

Sherlock shoved in, and John screamed. Sherlock was fucking him dry, and it was already the best sex he'd ever had in his entire life. 

Because his flatmate was fucking him while they stood in the middle of their flat.

As Sherlock continued to press up into him, aggressively, and John could barely keep his feet on the floor. Sherlock's hand was still planted firmly on his cock, just rubbing the tip into his palm mindlessly. 

"Fuck- _fuck_ , Sherlock!" John managed to shout, waving his arms around behind him, trying to find something to grab onto, finally finding Sherlock's bare arse behind him. "God, like-"

John let out a strangled cry, cutting off his own words. 

They both fell silent, breathing together, until John moaned, "Sherlock, Sherlock..."

Sherlock pushed into him harder, his own cock rubbing against the jean waistband of John's trousers on every pull-out. 

"John," Sherlock breathed into John's ear. "This is better."

"Not. Good. Enough," John uttered on every thrust of Sherlock's cock into him. "Not enough." He couldn't find a proper breathing pattern in all of this; in every sexual encounter, John always led the way as much as possible, but he was blindly trusting Sherlock now, giving in to whatever the madman desired. 

Sherlock shouted in near-frustration and took his hand off John's cock, only to bring John's hand from Sherlock's arse to his hole. Sherlock's hand returned to John's cock, this time creating a tunnel for John's cock to press into. They settled into a messy rhythm, John sliding into Sherlock's hand as his fingers went into Sherlock's arse, then Sherlock's cock rutting inside John's arsehole as John's cock slid back in Sherlock's hand. They slowed down the pace until they fell into the rhythm, then the pace was fast again, and John couldn't control his breathing. Sherlock's breaths, too, were becoming short and ragged, both of them exhausted yet equally energized.

"Fuck, _John_ , you have no idea- I've wanted this for so long," Sherlock choked out.

"Stop!" John shouted suddenly. He took a deep breath and slowly rolled his arse back against Sherlock's groin.

"Should I pull out?" Sherlock asked quietly, sounding unusually gentle.

"God, no. _Ahh,_ " John gasped as he let Sherlock's cock rub against his prostate. "Just... too much."

"I'm sorry." Oh, this was bad. Sherlock sounded worried. 

"Don't be. Want to... keep going," John sighed. "Oh, it's not _enough,_ Sherlock."

John placed both of Sherlock's hands on his cock, holding them both with his own hand. His other hand, he reached back behind him again to grab Sherlock's hip. 

"More," John whined.

He couldn't almost feel Sherlock grin behind him as he rocked up into his flatmate again. 

"You won't let anyone else fuck you, John," Sherlock ordered.

"Never," John breathed.

"And you won't fuck anyone except me. Your cock is for me and no one else."

"Fuck."

And Sherlock did just that, removing his hands from John's cock to grab the front of his thighs, holding him tighter as his cock shoved into him repeatedly. John gripped his cock tightly.

"We will have sex on every surface in this flat, everywhere you've been with another partner, and everywhere you haven't been," Sherlock continued. 

"Fuck, Sherlock."

"Yes," Sherlock said, pushing up into John and stilling as John cried out, coming into his own hand. Sherlock quickly looped an arm around John's waist to keep him from falling to the floor, and then Sherlock was spending himself inside John, too. 

By the time the haze cleared, John felt Sherlock pressing wet, open-mouth kisses to his neck while gently sliding out. 

John gasped noiselessly, his knees feeling weak, but he was being held up by Sherlock. 

And then he wasn't. The men broke apart, silently cleaning off and dressing themselves. John's heart pounded loud enough to fill the whole flat, ringing in his ears. What just happened? Was this whole week building up to this moment? Fuck the experiment, Sherlock just completely proved where his sexual needs went.

John looked up, his eyes wide and smiling. "Can I kiss you now?"

Sherlock looked completely surprised by everything that just happened in his flat, and nodded.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******All right, readers. My life is going to get hectic in the next week so I don't plan on updating soon. There WILL be a fourteenth chapter and the possibility of a fifteenth, but for sure no more. I'm not entirely certain what these chapters will contain. If you have any ideas, PLEASE let me know. I have vague concepts, but where do you think it should go? I'll get them updated ASAP.*********
> 
> PLEASE tell me what you think. Leave Kudos if it was sufficient to fill your needs and expectations!
> 
> But like for real, thank goodness my parents can be really oblivious sometimes. Even though all my classes are done with until next week, I’ve convinced them all this typing is my “homework” and that’s why I need the computer all the time.
> 
> Also is the end of this Chapter okay? I'm fairly certain I'm continuing this story because I need exhibitionism, and I feel like that's where this is headed, but we'll see.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is probably incomplete, but it will be the final chapter. Probably.

Two weeks had passed since John had seen Sherlock last. He was still angry that he could feel the exact texture of Sherlock's lips on his, but more importantly, he was angry that he had no idea if Sherlock was gone on purpose, or because something bad had happened to him.

"John, go home," Lestrade prompted.

"No."

"He's your _flatmate_. If he really is gone-" Anderson was cut off by John forearm against his throat. 

"He really isn't gone, Anderson. Not again. He wouldn't do that to-" John cut himself off. "He wouldn't do that again."

"Quit stropping about like a lovesick puppy. Maybe Sherlock wanted to get rid of you," Anderson teased.

Lestrade interrupted, "Boys, that's enough. There's still loads to investigate here, and you both get to help us." He gave John a look. "I still think it would be best for you to go home, though, John. We'll tell you if we find anything."

John shook his head, but couldn't help being fazed by Anderson's words. Sherlock didn't want to get rid of John. He's the one who asked for John's consent, who fucked him dry in their flat, who held him tight and- John had to stop thinking about it. The kiss was the best, anyway. The kiss took them around the flat, a barrier between near-sex that was promised on every surface, starting in the sitting room- the kiss that promised more. 

And then John woke up the next morning, and there was no more. And the evening came, and there was still no more. 

John thought nothing of it for a couple days. Sherlock's actions were always a little questionable. But then John realized that none of Sherlock's clothes were gone. Nothing in the flat was gone except Sherlock.

"We've found something!" An officer ran up to Lestrade and handed him a small vial. "Unidentified subject."

"Not Sherlock?" Lestrade asked.

"The blood does not belong to Subject A, no." 

Lestrade nodded. "We're looking for evidence of a kidnapper."

"Excuse me?" John inquired, angry. "Sherlock was kidnapped?"

"Good riddance," Anderson muttered, and John's arm was against his throat again. "Calm down, John. You think Sherlock would react the same way? You think he'd even be here if you were gone?"

"Anderson, John, just don't speak to each other."

At that moment, Sally walked into the room. "We have Grey and Tomsen having a look around the flat. So far it looks like Sherlock forgot about you, John. There's no evidence that he didn't just leave you with the rent. Good luck."

"We found a blood sample of an exterior subject," Lestrade offered, holding up the vial.

"I could probably find twenty-five more blood samples in that dump, Lestrade."

"Oy!" Lestrade reprimanded. Sally shrugged. 

"Well, we're just waiting for the guys to get back. I don't see any improvements on the case today, is what I'm saying. There are other more important cases at hand," Sally pointed out. Lestrade gave John a sorry look, then was called over to a surveillance computer, immediately engaging in conversation with the man sitting at the desk about a masked Moroccan murder.

John leaned against the wall, feeling more confused than he'd ever felt in his life. There was virtually nothing he could do. 

_"John, thank you." Sherlock breathed against John's mouth, both men lying on the sofa. Before John could ask what the word of gratitude was for, Sherlock continued, "I'll understand if you ever want to escape this-"_

_"Never." John grinned and pulled Sherlock tighter, pressing kisses to his neck and up to his ears._

_"Good, because I'm mad for you, and I'm not leaving you. You're stuck with a sociopath. Congratulations." Sherlock teased, his words becoming muffled by John's shirt._

_"Well, you're stuck with a military doctor, which most people tell me is not an easy thing to have in a relationship."_

_"Stop." Sherlock covered John's mouth. "I don't want to hear about anyone else. You're only with me."_

_John nodded and kissed Sherlock's nose._

_"Besides," Sherlock continued. "We've known each other for a dozen years now."_

_"It's been five years, Sherlock-"_

_"Who can keep track of the details, really, John? The point is, I know you better than you know yourself. Believe me, being a military doctor is-"_

_Don't say "sexy," don't say "sexy."_

_"-a part of who you are." John grinned as Sherlock carried on. "Living with a doctor has only meant you care about me more than most people."_

_"I wouldn't have to be a doctor to care about you, Sherlock."_

_Sherlock looked at him in surprise, then nodded slowly. "I love you."_

_John's heart and brain stopped, but he felt more alive than ever. "You... you don't know that."_

_"John, I'm fairly certain I do know that. I'm rarely wrong."_

_"Well... then..." John swallowed hard. "You must know how I feel about you."_

_Sherlock's smile faded as he thought hard. "I'm fairly certain... John, I know you love me, too. I don't care if you feel love for me any stronger than you did several months ago when you first told me."_

_"That was four months ago, Sherlock. And how could it not be stronger?"_

"John, why are you still here? Sherlock's not coming back today, and probably not tomorrow. In fact, I'd be surprised if he returned at all. Either way, wasting your time here is not going to convince him to return," Anderson said. 

"You're wrong," John insisted, more angry than ever. "Sherlock didn't plan on leaving."

"How do you know that?" Lestrade asked. "There's no evidence."

John debated telling them, he really did. Instead, he went with: "I'm staying here."

Lestrade sighed and turned to the others. "He's not causing problems. It's his own time he's wasting, not yours, Anderson."

John's brow furrowed. If Lestrade didn't even seem to be on John's side, then maybe John was overreacting. Except he knew something none of the people in the Yard knew. 

Except that was one night. One incredible night, but one night, nonetheless. What did one night mean to Sherlock?

No, there was no way Sherlock intended to leave John. John had to believe that. 

"What does this mean?" Lestrade suddenly asked, staring at his phone.

**tell John Watson to call me**

John was immediately at Lestrade's side. "Well, I think it means I should call Sherlock."

"John, it was from an unidentified number. Not Sherlock."

"Tell John Watson..." John's heart clenched. "I don't think Sherlock would say "Watson." Maybe it is someone else." 

Lestrade pressed the "call" button. John waited, tense, and then Lestrade said, "No answer."

"We have nothing," John realized, disappointed.

"We have a number," Lestrade said. He turned to someone else in the Yard. "Trace this number."

"Lestrade, give it up. Sherlock wants to be lost. We have to solve this murder."

Murder. Oh God, what if Sherlock was dead? The thought hadn't occurred to John. He went back to the wall, trying not to be overwhelmed and trying not to feel tears in his eyes. He sniffed, straightening his shoulders. Soldier. _Sherlock's not dead._

And the moment he said that to himself, a tall man with curly hair walked into the Yard. Murmurs rang out, people stood, but Sherlock looked nowhere but at John.

Fury filled John. Sherlock looked calm, cool, classy, his crisp black suit fitting his frame as smoothly as his own skin. 

"Sherlock," John began. "Where the fuck-"

"Oy!" Lestrade yelled as Sherlock's body and lips covered John's. The Yard went silent. 

"You didn't call me," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, you sent that text two minutes ago. We did call you."

"You didn't. I wanted to meet you at the flat. There's so many things I've been longing to do to you for the past two weeks. My imagination went wild in that cell all by myself." 

John blushed, aware that every pair of eyes was on him, and every ear was picking up every word of their conversation. "What cell?"

Sherlock froze, his eyes wide in surprise. "What cell? You mean... none of these morons even knew where I was? I've been gone two weeks!"

"Sorry, Sherlock. They've been busy with a murder," John explained. "None of them believed you wanted to come back. They thought it was a useless case."

"Useless? Of course I wanted to come back! I needed to come back!" Sherlock exclaimed, spinning around to face the Yard. "Morons, all of you!"

He turned back to John, his eyes going immediately dark. Sherlock's tongue dove into John's mouth as their upper lips sucked again each other, and John couldn't help but let out a soft whimper. "God," Sherlock began. "We were supposed to have sex all day. That was my plan."

"Fuck, Sherlock." John muttered, still aware that everyone could probably hear them, but also aware that he needed Sherlock right now. He needed all of Sherlock, everything he'd missed. 

Chills shot up his spine and his head slammed back against the wall when he felt Sherlock's erection pressing against layers of fabric and John's thigh.

"Let's go home," John said, trying to breathe and will away his own growing hardness. 

"Everyone here knows what I want to do to you. They won't mind." And with that, Sherlock slowly pushed John into a conference room, their bodies never separating from one another.

"They'll hear us," John said as he let himself be pushed onto the table.

"Good, I'm glad you've deduced that much."

"God, Sherlock. I think we can at least afford them some privacy," John said, suddenly noticing the open windows. He rolled off the table, but Sherlock pulled him back.

"No. Did they believe I'd come back?"

"No."

"And do you think they'd believe I'd fuck you against this table?"

"No," John shook his head, a smile forming.

"Some people need to see to believe."

"God, yes," John agreed. He glanced out the windows, seeing Lestrade standing with his back to the conference room, his arms crossed, a threatening stance for anyone who dared look past him.

"No, look at me. Make them hear us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just kidding, I think I might need more. Was this okay? It was very impromptu compared to most of the chapters.


End file.
